Tessa
**NB. This story is as it comes – straight out of my head and may contain typos**
“How was the date?” the rockstar in my living room asked.
The rockstar in my living room.
Dexter Reeves, one quarter of Indigo Rain—the world’s hottest rock band—was lying on my sofa in his underwear. Okay, boxers and a T-shirt. But I had to think positive—he always put the toilet seat down, and he was paying half the rent.
I pulled a face. “I went to the the bathroom before dessert, and our waiter helped me to sneak out through the kitchen. I gave him a massive tip.”
“That bad?”
“So I got there, and the pictures the guy used were at least ten years old because he was bald and a a bit paunchy. Which I figured was kind of sneaky, but I gave him the benefit I’d the doubt and stayed. He kept talking about hair plugs. Freaking hair plugs! Should he get them or shouldn’t he?”
“And what was the verdict?”
“I tried to avoid answering, but he insisted, so I said maybe it wouldn’t be a bad idea, and then he called me shallow and said I should get breast implants because it was practically the same thing and my boobs looked better in my profile pic.” I checked myself in the mirror on the back of the front door. Maybe I should have worn a push-up bra? Then I turned back to Dex. “What do you think?”
“There’s nothing wrong with your rack. If you want dessert, there’s half a cheesecake in the fridge.”
“Aw, I love you. In a purely platonic, cheesecake-related way, of course.”
“I’d get it for you, but…” He waved his hand at his pair of leg braces.
“Do you want a piece?”
“Nah, or it’ll be me with the paunch. Turns out you can’t eat whatever you want when you’re not jumping around on stage every night.”
So, why was I sharing my space with a rock star? There were three reasons.
One, my last roommate liked wearing my underwear. When I came home unexpectedly and found him modelling the fancy knickers-and-bra set I’d treated myself to after I thought I’d met The One last year, he was already a month behind on the rent, and he obviously didn’t pay the arrears after I threw him out. So I needed money. Although I liked my space, it was a luxury I couldn’t afford, and it worked out cheaper to rent a two bedroom flat and get a roommate than it did to live in a studio flat by myself. I’d lucked into a cute basement flat when a girl in one of my uni classes decided further education wasn’t for her and moved back to Germany, and I’d been clinging on to the lease ever since. It wasn’t huge—just a kitchen-diner and a lounge on the right, plus two bedrooms with a bathroom sandwiched between them on the left. There were windows, but they looked out onto the wall around the area at the front and a tiny terrace at the back. My front door was the old tradesmen’s entrance.
Reason number two was that Lanie—my bestie who was dating the singer in Dex’s band—assured me that Dex wasn’t the lunatic his reputation suggested, and he just needed a quiet place to recover after he underwent knee surgery. So, here we were. I could live with him wandering around in his boxers because at least he wasn’t wearing a lace thong.
The third reason? Well, when we were fourteen, Lanie and I had each written out a ten-point life plan during a particularly boring English lesson. The next day, she’d declared them dumb and torn hers up, but I’d quietly kept mine because even at that age, I’d known what I wanted to do with my life.
1. Lose three stone.
2. Pass my exams.
3. Learn to ice skate.
4. Ride a roller coaster.
5. Get a dog.
6. Go to the beach.
7. Set Finley Kerrigan on fire.
8. Become a journalist.
9. Break a big story.
10. Marry a hot rock star.
I'd crossed off goals 1, 2, 4, 6, 8, and 9. Even though I still had my final year of university to go, I was interning at NewsFlash magazine for my placement year and they’d offered me a full-time job when I graduated, so I was counting number 8 as a win. Goal 3 was a partial success—I could go forwards, backwards, and stop on the ice, but the graceful spins I’d imagined myself performing were still a pipe dream. The dog would have to wait until I had a yard and time to walk it. And the fact that Finley Kerrigan was still breathing was a sore point.
Anyhow, I hoped that having Dex around might get me closer to goal number ten. I’d had a not-so-secret crush on his bandmate for years, but after the recent drama that saw Indigo Rain dodging dead bodies and then signing with a new record label, Rush Moder had decided to go find himself in Africa before the band headed back into the studio.
The problem? As well as being on a different continent, Rush treated me like a little sister. When he left for the airport, he’d given me a hug and a pat on the shoulder, for Pete’s sake. But he and Dex talked, at least they did when Rush had a phone signal. If Rush knew I was dating, maybe he’d see me in a different light?
So, I was stuck with Dex, and he wasn’t a bad roommate. Mostly, he sat around on the sofa, watching TV or strumming the acoustic guitar he’d brought with him. Each morning, a physiotherapist showed up to help with the exercises he needed to do, and Jeanne, the one assistant who’d survived the drama with Red Cat records and been hired by the new label, ran errands for him. She was on semi-vacation, staying with a friend in London until the band was ready to make a comeback.
It was probably Jeanne who’d picked up the cheesecake. I cut myself a slice and slumped into the armchair at right-angles to the sofa. Dex was watching a movie, something with a car chase, a hurricane, and plenty of explosions. He’d been stuck on the sofa for a month now, but he hadn’t complained. The opposite—he said he was enjoying doing nothing for the first time in his life.
“Did you hear anything from the others?” I asked.
“Travis is writing songs.” He grimaced. “Probably fuckin’ love songs.”
“But Indigo Rain doesn’t have to perform them, right? He’s able to sell them to other artists now?”
His old record label hadn’t allowed that. They didn’t want him making any more money than the pittance they doled out, otherwise he might have had an escape route. The new record label, Spectre, seemed much more supportive.
“Yeah. Spectre’s working with Suzi Quade for a couple of tracks, Red Bennett too. Plus Luna Maara’s agent got in touch.” He snorted. “Travis gets final approval on any deals, and he said no way.”
“Luna Maara? The girl who does crazy stuff on social media?”
Like zip-lining across a river. In a bikini. Roller skating down the red carpet at a movie premiere. In a bikini. Throwing the first pitch at a baseball game. Also in a bikini. I mean, if I had her figure, I’d probably wear a bikini too, but not when I went grocery shopping.
“Right. I mean, she can sing, but… You know what, I changed my mind. I’ll have a piece of cheesecake.”
I sighed and got up, although I didn’t mind too much. Dex could walk with crutches now, but he said his knees hurt more in the evenings, and after the way he described the operation, I was surprised he could walk at all. The surgeon had sliced through both of his tibias, inserted wedge-shaped bone grafts, then screwed everything back together again. Twice. Because Dex said he’d rather get it over with in one go rather than having one leg done at a time. Now his legs were straighter, and his weight was distributed more evenly across the joints. Someday, it was likely he’d need total knee replacements, but for now, the osteotomy gave him the best chance of keeping a full range of movement.
“How’s JD doing?” I asked from the kitchen. While Travis cosied up with Lanie and Rush volunteered overseas, JD had gone to rehab in Colorado. Lanie said it was a miracle he wasn’t detoxing in prison, considering the amount of coke he’d snorted on Indigo Rain’s last tour.
“Travis spoke with him yesterday. He’s leaning to crochet.”
“Crochet? Like knitting?”
Dex tried to keep a straight face, but didn’t do a very good job of it. “Yarn and hooks. Trav reckons he’s taking more drugs now, not less.”
“Wow.” I paused, scrolling through BuzzHub on my phone and trying not to look too interested. “And Rush?”
“Thought you’d never ask.” Dex laughed, the asshole. “Last I heard, he was heading into the desert to build a school for Bedouin kids. No mains electricity, no phone signal.”
“That was a week ago.”
“Maybe he died of heat exhaustion?”
“What? Do you think that’s possible? We should call the embassy or something.”
“Relax, I’m just messin’ with ya.”
“So he’s okay?”
“No reason to think otherwise. This movie’s shit.”
I handed Dex a plate of cheesecake and a fork, although at times like this, it was tempting to stab him with the fork and dump the cheesecake in his lap.
“You signed up for every streaming service there is—watch something else. Isn’t there a new Scott Lowes film?”
“What’s it about?”
“I don’t know, but it has Scott Lowes in it.”
Dex’s turn to sigh. He began flipping through on-screen menus while I focused on BuzzHub. Maybe I should try volunteering overseas? There was bound to be a story in it, and I could generate publicity for the cause. Should I pitch the idea to my boss? He always encouraged me to use my initiative, and four months ago, that had led to me breaking the Red Cat scandal. Millions of people had read the exposé with my name on it, and the owner of the magazine had come to the newsroom to congratulate me personally.
A journey through Africa: how volunteering benefits everyone.
I could interview Rush as part of the article, and if someone managed to contact him before the project finished, maybe he could take some pictures too? His name would attract a whole new readership, and—
Wait. I squinted at my phone screen. BuzzHub was my favourite social media platform, and thanks to the monthly fee they charged, ads and bot accounts were kept to a minimum. That meant you saw more posts from your friends, became more involved in groups you joined, and kept up with local news.
Local news… A post in the Around Highbury group had caught my eye. A picture of a black dog, a little labrador-ish with a single white dot on its nose, panting as it backed away from the camera.
Does anyone recognise this dog? I was walking back from yoga, and found him wandering around the church with his lead still attached. I’ve taken him home, but my cat doesn’t like him, so I’ll have to call the dog warden in the morning.
My heat thumped in my chest. I did recognise the dog. His name was Beans, and more than once, he’d emptied the newsroom with his demon farts, but nobody cared because he was cute and unfailingly happy. Whenever someone was having a bad day, Beans knew, and he gifted you nose boops and his favourite toy octopus.
My boss walked him four times a day—in the morning, at lunchtime, after lunch, and last thing at night. Why was Beans at the church by himself? With his leash on? Geoff wouldn’t have let him go. Not voluntarily.
“What’s up?” Dex asked. “Are you watching porn?”
“Porn? What?”
“You’re breathing hard.”
“I’m not watching bloody porn. Someone just found my boss’s dog wandering loose.”
“So call your boss and tell him?”
Man, I hadn’t even thought of that. I’d been so busy imagining Geoff lying in an alley somewhere that I failed to do the obvious. Except when I dialled him, his voicemail answered.
“Uh, Geoff? It’s Tessa. There’s a post on BuzzHub about a loose dog, and it looks just like Beans. I’m not sure if he might have gotten loose? Anyway, can you call me?”
When I hung up, Dex offered a smile that seemed genuinely sympathetic. “No answer?”
I shook my head.
“Are you sure it’s the same dog?”
“It’s either Beans or his twin.” I perched on the edge of the sofa and showed Dex the picture. “I’ve never seen another dog with a white spot on its nose like that. And Beans has a red leash like the one in the photo too.”
“Then message the girl who found him.”
I was typing out a note as we spoke. Did you find his owner? I think I might know who he belongs to.
“I’m worried. Geoff absolutely dotes on Beans, and there’s no way he’d let him out alone. The church where the lady found Beans is only five minutes from here—maybe I should try looking for Geoff? What if he tripped and hit his head.”
“If I couldn’t fuckin’ walk, I’d come with you, but I can’t and it’s dark. Try calling the cops—if he fell, someone might have reported it already.”
“When my friend Kerry’s flat got burgled last month, they called her back three days later. Three freaking days. Highbury is pretty safe. There are streetlights. I could just—”
“Call Alana. She can wake up her brother, and he might be able to help.”
“Zander isn’t in London tonight.”
Zander was Alana’s brother, and he worked for Blackwood Security, the awesomest security company in the world. Okay, so I wasn’t totally familiar with all the other security companies, but I knew it was the best. Zander’s wife, Dove, worked as a gardener at a big estate in Hertfordshire, and she stayed in a cottage there during the week. He always volunteered to take cases north of London so he could spend the nights with her.
“So we’re back to the cops.”
“Highbury is a good area. I’ve been out on my own at night plenty of times.”
My phone buzzed. It was the lady who’d found the dog, and he was still at her home. She said he seemed nervous. At the very least, I could pick him up so he saw a familiar face—the supermarket down the road opened at six, so I could buy kibble for his breakfast if Geoff hadn’t called me back by then. Honestly, I wasn’t thrilled at the idea of going out alone at ten p.m., but I wasn’t scared either. After what happened to my mum, I’d been on a whole bunch of self-defence courses, and I knew how to kick a man where it hurt.
“Call the cops,” Dex said.
“I’ll take my phone.”
“Call the fuckin’ cops.”
“You’re overreacting,” I tried, but what if Dex was right? What if something really had happened to Geoff? “Hey, maybe I should toss a coin?”